In olden times

A glimpse of the chalk streams of my youth. While I'm waiting for another opportunity to cast at something other than a leaf on the rec field behind my house ("I am a leaf on the wind"...) I thought I'd share this. The river Chess near little Chalfont.

We used to come down here as boys, 7' spinning rods tied to bicycle crossbars with string, reels in canvas shoulder bags, and tins of worms. A size 10 hook, ears like little radar dishes, alert for the sound of the bailiff (who would sometimes unfairly approach from down or upstream by wading the cunning swine) and eyes glued to water so clear you could see the stones on the bottom. This photo was taken further downstream from where we used to fish, but you get the idea.

Learning from the master

OK, I fess up - it's my own book

So, I've been practising with Sean's fly rod and reel and am slowly beginning to get the hang of it. Apperently there are two key elements to every successful fly cast. First, a stiff wrist. You move your forearm, you don't flick with your wrist, which is the temptation. Second, the stop. You need to move the rod between 11.00 o'clock forwards and one o'clock backwards, remembering to snap to a stop in each direction. This means casting backwards as well as forwards.

Hard to believe that something that sounds so simple, can be so hard.